Pledges
by Harrington Haus
Summary: Pledge week among the seniors at Harrington House conjure up memories of the past and bring to light unspoken things about the future. Concentrates on all Preps but especially Derby and Bif. Non-linear story telling. Contains Derby/Bif; Gord/Jimmy; Gord/Lola; Tad/Pinky; suggested Bryce/Chad;
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: I took my own personal liberties with some aspects of these characters, especially the structure of the Preppie clique. I styled them a bit like a high school fraternity, based on the Harrington fraternity house and the multiple paddles/cricket bats in Harrington House._

**April Ninth, 2012, 3:46 PM**

Spring was the season of pledges. It was common knowledge among the wealthiest boys at Bullworth Academy, a common knowledge that tore through each and every one of them in either conceited self-assuredness or the horror of their social lives being laid out on the table. There were eight boys in Harrington House, no more, no less, and that was always how it was. Eight members, eight pledges, sixteen young men considered to be of the highest pedigree in Bullworth.

Pledge discussions were made exclusively in the Round Room in the infamous Harrington House on April ninth, no exceptions. Teachers turned a blind eye to the full school day missed by seniors in an illegal fraternity the whole school turned a blind eye to as it was. It was an important day- these boys would painstakingly pick the juniors with good enough family, finances, and finesse to be a part of the prestigious Harrington House, better known as the Preppies.

At least, it was supposed to be painstaking. As Derby Harringon flicked his eyes around the room, glancing at the faces of his "brothers" framed by blue-grey furls of cigarette smoke, he wished for a half-second that he was poor enough to be able to pick his friends. Indeed, before they'd all become the chosen ones this month last year, there were a few of them he'd hardly met. After all, it had generally been assumed by the founder of the Harrington House fraternity, his father, that people of similar quality ought to have similar relationships. Naturally, a group of well-bred men put together would like each other. This truth held in common by the wealthy families in Bullworth alleviated the conflict of choosing boys who would like each other. What sparse conversation there was currently in the Round Room certainly reflected that sentiment.

"What about Kirby Olsen?" Justin remarked offhand, snuffing out and relighting his cigarette. He never truly smoked, but no Prep liked to be left out, so he held one while everyone else smoked.

"Absolutely not. Where did you come up with that?" Chad scoffed at the idea, cracking his knuckles. "You want Kirby Olsen to be your pledge?"

"I've been telling you for a while, we should form an alliance with the Jocks."

"The sports that those 'Jocks' take part in are hardly refined enough for Harrington House." Tad said, exhaling smoke as he spoke. "As if any Prep could be caught dead playing American football."

"Well fine, who's your pledge then?"

"Logan Carlisle. Fine chap. His father owns that royal blue yacht called Catherine the Great."

"Oh, I saw that one at the Regalia over the summer. It can really fly." Gord said, smacking his hand on the table with approval.

Derby kept silent, not smoking or pretending to smoke, but tentatively taking a sip from his scotch and water. Was this how his friends were chosen? Was this how fate chose his... Derby didn't know what to call Bif. He felt Bif gently squeeze his knee in another one of his odd attempts at reassurance. Shooting Bif a glare to let him know that the touch was only making him more uncomfortable, he pinched the bridge of his nose, doing his best to conjure up his best plans for who he would yoke into being the unquestioned ring leader of this nonsense. Perhaps he would bully Father into making one of his cousins transfer to Bullworth Academy, so he could just call legacy and get it over with. The only thing Derby could focus on now were memories.

Five days from now it would be a year since he'd last been in the Round Room-coincidentally, it would also be a year since he first tasted scotch whiskey. Though he'd grown accustomed to it and even grown to like it in the past year, it tasted like dirt now in his mouth. His unnaturally dark eyes suddenly fixated on an object in the corner of the room- a chess set. The board itself, ash wood gilded with gold, had been scratched in a few places, and the ivory face of the white king had cracked. Though incredibly ugly, it was also incredibly valuable, so it was stored in the Round Room where people hardly visited. The last time Derby saw it, he felt strongly compelled to sweep his hand across the board and scatter all of the pieces. Now, looking upon it again, he felt the same compulsion arise in his chest.

He rose suddenly, walking away from the table.

"Derby, wait, have you said who your pledge will be yet? You have to make the executive decisions here, too!" Bryce called this out after him, with something of a desperate tone in his voice. Turning back towards Bryce, Derby couldn't help but wonder what made Bryce think someone in his position had the right to call out to him like that. Giving him a once-over, Derby saw the tremble in his lip, the flash of fear in his eye. Derby knew who Bryce was worried about- his younger brother, Cole. Under normal circumstances a legacy had nothing to worry about, which Bryce had mentioned several times during the meeting with a nervous laugh. The situation of the Montrose family, however, suggested otherwise. Even if they were raised in total class and elegance, even if their father brokered the affairs of Harrington House, could a Montrose really be a part of a rich boy's fraternity if they, as of January, weren't even rich anymore? Bryce wasn't worried about Derby's presence; he was worried about the presence of Cole in this very place next year.

Pursing his lips, Derby took one or two threatening paces closer to Bryce. Once he stood directly over him, he spoke harshly, yet somehow maintaining composure as if exerting so much spite took such little effort.

"I told you once I would consider it, and the mere fact that I would entertain having another land-rich Montrose stink up these rooms with their money woes and hand-me-down Aquaberry should be enough for you. Now let me make this clear:the next time we speak of the matter will be my decision, not your decision. Try to nudge me into letting Cole in one more time and I guarantee neither you or your brother will manage to squirm their way into an acceptable school after high school is over." Speaking this last word and leaving Bryce frozen still, Derby breezed out of the room, his mind pre-occupied with other things.

**April Thirteenth, 2011, 5:30 PM**

"I doubt that they'll pick me. I mean, they might? Father just sold his yacht for some reason and at the worst possible time!"

The sitting room of Derby Harrington was more crowded than it ever was. Everyone knew that year that the ticket to getting a free pass into Harrington House was to become associated with Derby Harrington. The bolder and more desperate were being very aggressive, and in an odd act to amuse himself, Derby invited the most forward of all of these men to his home for a visit. So now, draped across his favored couch, he watched the four of his peers closely as they followed the golden rule of talking like a proper gentleman: keep the subjects bland, and only talk about the issues of others, never yourself.

"Come on Bryce," drawled Gord in response. "You're a shoo-in. You've got an excellent haircut, for one, and second of all, your father handles the finance for the club. Plus, you box. I'm hoping that the big brothers notice that for me as well. I'm an excellent boxer, you know."

"I just hope the club is as nice as people say that it is. I'd hate to get in and find out it's not up to my standards." This was a contribution by Gordon Wakefield. Derby scrunched his nose at that comment. Did he really think it was okay to insult Harrington House, the club his father established and the building his grandfather donated, right in front of him? He'd better knock him down a peg.

"You don't box at all, do you, Wakefield?" Derby passed this small jab as he picked up an Aquaberry catalogue and started to flip through it. That was his tactic- it should seem that such judgement was standard for him to dish out. Unfortunately, it went right over Gordon's head.

"I don't need to know how to box! I have plenty of natural talent. My own style. I practice all of the time in my-"

Lacking entirely in patience for his excuses, Derby laid one into him, his fist connecting beautifully with the side of Gordon's face. The droplets of blood that fell would serve as an excuse for Derby to badger his mother into getting a new rug for his sitting area. He wanted as many deep shades of purple and maroon spun into his surroundings as possible. Pushing his dark brown hair out of his eyes, he sat down as if nothing happened.

"Perhaps you don't practice enough." Derby smirked at his own joke as he smeared caviar on a blini, shoving it into his mouth in a departure from refinement, if only be amused as everyone else followed suit, save for Gordon, who was nursing a cut lip.

"I would have got you if I knew you were coming."

"Greasers aren't going to warn you. In the ring, no one is going to warn you." Bif supplied, having been silent for almost the whole afternoon and evening. "You have float like a butterfly, and sting like a bee."

With these words Bif glanced at him, with a sort of look that couldn't be pinned down with any one sentiment, and Derby almost choked on his blini. Perhaps he shouldn't have invited him- this one boy, Bif, who he knew the least out of all of his potential future "friends", had been appearing randomly to him all year, giving him similar looks. Mercifully, the Gord in the room that actually had a chance of entering the Harrington House walls, Gord Vendome, turned to Derby and starting talking again.

"The thing is, even if all of us do get in, we get hazed, except for you. You're one lucky chap, being a Harrington. They'll never haze you-your family owns their bloody fraternity house!"

It was the truth, to which Derby only nodded. But when he looked up, he saw an odd expression on all of the faces of his guests, that certainly didn't match the expression that Bif had been confusing him with all year. It was a strange mixture of despair, envy, and hope. It was an expression he'd grown accustomed to, but to see it all over again in four faces at the same time made a strange feeling arise in his chest. Was this power?

**April Ninth, 2012, 4:01 PM**

There was something off about Derby today, Bif could sense it. Though the public verbal assault of Bryce was hardly out of character, Derby normally had more to say before leaving a room. In spite of their odd relationship, Derby's inner thoughts, and even their existence, were a mystery to Bif. He did know one thing for certain, though. Whenever you wanted even the smallest glimpse of what was going on in Derby's head, it was better to never ask him directly. That was why, when Bif finally found him with his face in his hands, sitting on a couch in the downstairs sitting room, he didn't say what he wished to. To try to wrap his arms around Derby and baby him into giving out answers to what was wrong would result in a bloody nose that Bif didn't have the heart to return.

Instead, Bif gently tugged on a piece of Derby's hair and put his hand on his shoulder.

"You need to bleach your hair again. Your dark roots are starting to get really obvious."

It didn't particularly matter, considering Derby's prominent dark eyebrows, but as long as it was nothing too personal, Bif could have mentioned anything but the obvious to soothe Derby. Derby didn't respond with much shock-he'd heard Bif walk in and knew he was the only person who would look for him after what had just happened.

"Get over here." Not moving from former position, Derby barked this command at Bif, and didn't speak again until he felt the couch give to his weight. "Just so you know, you're nothing that important to me. Don't think I'm going to treat you special."

"I know, Derby." This wasn't the first such exchange. These words were always spoken between the two of them, prompted by Derby before most conversations, romantic moments, and sex. Though unsettling and even hurtful at first to Bif, it'd grown to be a part of the routine, and he'd do anything to calm Derby down. As usual, the words were reassuring in whatever strange way to Derby, and he sat up and leaned into Bif and quietly started to talk,

"Should I care that I don't have a pledge yet?"

"You should care a little bit."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Don't ask me."

Though Bif's quick responses made Derby roll over and turn his back to him, Bif saw him hide a smile. Every inch of Derby was cryptic to Bif. Intuition was key. Inching closer to Derby and wrapping his arms around his waist, Bif pressed his lips to Derby's pale neck, gently.

"Okay, I know, you're the boss here."

His face not visible to Bif, Derby closed his eyes in bliss, believing if only for a moment that it was he and Bif who had placed themselves on that couch in Harrington House, and he and Bif alone.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Sorry this took so long! I recently became employed. Today we do a bit of focus on Tad._

**March Eleventh, 2012. 9:50 AM**

Tad took a deep sigh as he walked to his next class. Pre-Calculus was next. Class with Hattrick was torture. If only that whole plan to get Hopkins to egg his house would have worked out. At least then when he was stuck in class listening to Hattrick babble senselessly about things things Tad never even bothered to understand, he'd get that warm fuzzy feeling of revenge. But alas, all thanks to that sociopathic pleb, Gary, that whole plan had fallen through.

So caught up in mathematical woes was Tad that he hardly even noticed when he was shouldered by someone. Assuming it was Hopkins running around like a madman again, Tad immediately jumped back a few feet to avoid getting a beat down. Whether Hopkins had some bearing on them now or not, Tad knew what he was capable of and tried to stay out of his way. However, a distinctive whine let him know that it wasn't Hopkins that he collided with after all. For the first time in almost a year now, Tad found himself face to face with Gordon Wakefield. The stared at each other for a few moments before Tad turned away and started to walk in the other direction, very quickly. Tad knew the look that Gordon was giving him-the look held feelings of betrayal, of being overlooked, and at the same time, a strong superior air. There was nothing Tad could do to fix the bad blood between them now or ever.

**May Tenth, 2011, 3:32 AM**

It had been a fitful night's sleep for Tad Spencer. Though all of the information surrounding Harrington House pledging was strictly confidential, it was generally known that whoever was in would know by that night. Naturally, Tad had been on edge all day. He wanted to be a Prep so badly-no, he needed to be. Tad was nouveau riche, and the only way he'd ever really know if he was, as they said, "in", was if he was picked to be a Harrington House pledge. It was all his father's fault. Sometimes Tad wondered if it would be better if his father had never gotten rich at all.

Of course, Tad couldn't imagine living any way other than the extravagant lifestyle that he was used to. There was absolutely no question about that. But there was just so much pressure in his life. His poor peers didn't understand his wealthy lifestyle, and his wealthy peers at the country club looked down on him. He was a square peg. The worst pressure of all on Tad, however, was his father. After all, as his father said to him over and over again, if he could pull himself up by his bootstraps economically, Tad owed it to the family to pull him up by his bootstraps socially. This night was the deciding factor in whether or not Tad was a complete disappointment.

First midnight passed. Then one in the morning, then two. And as Tad lay there in bed, shaking in a cold sweat and nursing the pit in his stomach, he was sure that he was done for. His father was going to ruin his life. Tad considered running away. He was sure he could scoop up enough valuables to live for a while. Sure, he might have to hitch hike to the Midwest and be a farm hand, but anything would be better than being home. Oh, but he absolutely hated animals and heavy labor. It just wasn't fair. Tad was trapped between being wealthy and abused or being a farmhand.

And suddenly, for the very first time, a thought occurred in his head that would haunt him for years. Tad wasn't like Derby Harrington and never would be. Yes, Tad had piles of money, maybe even more than Derby had. But Derby had the name, and that was what really counted. He had the intrigue and privilege that could only come from centuries of fallen aristocrats turned oil tycoons. Hell, because Derby's father founded Harrington House, Derby probably wouldn't even get hazed. Derby Harrington had easy access to everything that Tad had to work for so desperately, and there was no amount of effort Tad could give to compensate for his disadvantage. Tad's life was over, and Derby would continue to live with everything handed to him, completely ignorant of everything Tad had to work for.

These angry thoughts were suddenly broken when he heard his door quietly creak open. It was his Dad, Tad knew it had to be. His father wasn't even waiting until morning to punish Tad for his inadequacy. Cringing, Tad pulled his knees up to his chest and braced himself for what he knew was coming. He never could have expected the bucket of cold water being thrown over him and the shouts of the Big Brothers of Harrington House.

"Get up pledge! Move it! Get in the car with the rest of the chaps! Come on, up, up, up!"

Someone was standing at his light switch flicking the lights on and off, other boys bobbing flashlights. Between the flashing, the shouting, and the pure shock, Tad couldn't recognize any of them specifically. He did feel himself being yanked out of bed onto the floor. Blindly, he pawed around for a pair of shoes.

"No shoes, come on, get up and go! We don't have all night!"

His heart racing in pure joy, Tad jumped up and ran towards his door. The upperclassmen all but dragged him to the driveway where two sporty looking cars were parked. Since it was still April and a relatively cool night, Tad had to suppress the urge to start shivering, wishing that he wasn't absolutely soaking wet. He hardly had time to start shivering as one of the bigger boys grabbed him by his arms and shoved him into the cramped backseat of one of the cars that already had two other boys sitting in it. He recognized one of the other guys, a kid named Gord Vendomewho was shaking like a chihuahua from the water dripping down his bangs. He hardly recognized the boy next to Gord, a black kid that he'd seen around but never spoken to.

"Eyes down, Cinderella!"

Tad knew exactly what the Big Brother who said that meant by that comment, but he was too glowingly happy to get upset and so he complied, putting his head down. He couldn't resist the urge to look around though, and subtly glanced to his left into the car beside them. All of a sudden, his heart sank. He didn't see his friend, Gordon Wakefield, anywhere. Gordon was so sure that he would get in, too. Tad hated to admit he saw this coming. Gordon was rotten at fighting, but still, Tad wasn't sure how he'd deal with not being friends with him anymore. What he saw next all but killed him. In the passenger seat of the car, safe from being one of the four junior boys stuffed in the backseat, was Derby Harrington. And from the looks of it, unlike the other pledges, Derby was completely dry. It was just like he thought. Swallowing down a lump in his throat, Tad firmly turned his eyes to the ground and kept them there as the two cars took off out of his driveway and tore through Old Bullworth Vale. Looking downward, he was forced to notice a certain something that made not wearing shoes an absolute embarrassment. Self consciously, Tad put one foot over the other, hoping that Chad and Gord weren't very observant.

**July Fifth, 2011, 2:05 AM**

The detached sun house that stood on the scenic edge of the Vandervelde's summer estate was a haze of smoke from various sources and the smell of alcohol stolen from Justin's parent's stash. The Preps all vacationed in the same part of Nantucket, like most wealthy Bullworth residents. Of course, since the decision made in May, they were supposed to spend more time with each other than anyone else, so it was only natural that they spend most of their summer nights in Nantucket partying together.

The small crowd, consisting of the usual Harrington House fellows with the exception of several girls and the odd new friend they'd met at the private Fourth of July party last night, was a tangle of bodies and intoxication. Nary a prep was lonely, except for Tad. He sat off to the side on a deliberately weathered leather couch wearing his undershirt and bathing suit, nursing what was his third or eighth gin and tonic of the night. All of the other men were stretched out over some rich girls who'd long lost their espadrilles and the inhibition that had earlier kept their Ralph Lauren polos wrinkle-free and off the floor.

It wasn't that he didn't fit in. On the contrary, Tad got on better with the other Preps better than most of them did at first. What bothered him was Derby. Even now, when everyone else was trying to be friends, he consistently lorded over them and refused to even get to know them. It was clear that Derby saw them as his followers, not his good old chaps. Tad stood up-or rather, he stumbled up- and slowly made his way onto the porch. He couldn't help but notice that Bif and Derby were gone. It figured that they would leave- everyone knew that Bif was the only member of Harrington House that Derby really cared about. They probably thought they were too good to spend time with the lesser members of the fraternity and left to go to an older party by themselves.

Tad suddenly grabbed hold of the railing, woozy from the alcohol and the thoughts churning in his head. As if like clockwork, an arm slid through his, smooth and feminine, and a light citrus smell, doubtlessly perfume, wafted into Tad's nostrils. Looking down, his eyes met the eyes of Pinky Gauthier, fluttering innocently in spite of the fact that she appeared to be in Tad's abandoned seersucker shirt and a pair of bikini bottoms.

"Tad, darling, I'm in a huge mess."

He wasn't even listening to her. Ever so subtly he glanced her over. Of course, Tad was a wreck at being subtle, even when he was sober, so Pinky noticed very quickly.

"Tad Spencer! You listen to me right now!"

All but forcing himself to look into her face, he saw it soften, very artificially but also very masterfully.

"What is it, Pinky?"

"I've left my purse down at the beach, and it's really dark now. I had some very important things in there- but I would just die if I had to go out there at this time of night."

"Would you like me to help you find a flashlight?"

"No!"

Twirling her hair in her fingers, she leaned in a little closer to Tad.

"Tad, you do know I'm a princess, don't you? I can't do something like that. You would absolutely be my hero if you went down and got it for me."

She'd hardly finished before Tad jumped off the railing onto the ground, walking towards the beach. He heard Pinky's voice calling out to him from the railing.

"I take that as a yes! I'll be waiting for you when you get back!"

Even in his drunken delusions Tad knew that that was a blatant lie. He waved to her from behind his back though, and walked on.

It took exactly four minutes to get lost in the place he'd spent every summer for the past sixteen years of his life.

Since when was this neighborhood such a labyrinth? Well, it probably wasn't. The neighborhood was long gone by now. And Tad was only wearing socks. It wasn't like he could be sure that anyone would come looking for him. All of the Preps liked him just fine, but no one really knew him. No one really knew each other, really. Another guilty image of Gordon Wakefield flashed through his mind. Rude and obnoxious and not cut out for the Preps as Wakefield was, it would have been nice for Tad to have someone he was close to. Next to Tuck, who he hardly ever got to see, Gordon was the closest thing to a brother he had. Gordon knew about Tuck's situation, about his father, and about his... feet. None of the preps had even bothered to ask why Tad wasn't walking barefoot like the rest of them. But getting pledged made it clear that they were his best friends now, which included Pinky. Tad really needed to find her purse.

He wandered for what felt like at least a half hour before he finally caught sight of some familiar faces. Bif and Derby were standing really close to each other, hidden in the shadow of a building. The resentful thoughts that arose when Tad looked at Derby came up tenfold when he was intoxicated.

So it's Bif that's going to be Derby's dog, is it now? They must be such good friends-I bet Derby could bring whoever he wanted into the club with him. Stupid special little snowflake. I'm going to tell him off. I'm going to tell him off and say fuck all to these Preps and my Dad and go run away with Gordon and Tuck-

Tad approached the other, going completely unnoticed, preparing a monologue of sitcom proportions. Finally he grabbed Derby's shoulder, taking great satisfaction in the sizable jump he managed to muster from him. Here he went, ready to speak his mind.

"Derby? Where are we?"

He'd surely give his angry monologue to Derby later. Tad somehow realized that he very well couldn't start screaming at the person he was currently clinging on in order to stand. Tad had gone a little limp, standing only from the fabric of Derby's shirt balled up in his fist. Glancing up, he was met with the predicted expression of contempt, with a sharper, more nervous edge.

"Tad, is it your bad genes that make it so hard for you to hold your alcohol?" Grabbing Tad's forearms, he shoved him towards Bif, who caught Tad and held him up by the back of his shirt collar. "We're at my house. The real question is, what are you doing here?"

"Have you seen Pinky's purse?"

"Answering questions with questions- what are you, a filthy Democrat?"

Tad tried his best to listen, but the wooziness was starting to overtake him. Pushing Bif back with a weak hand, Tad fell to his knees and started to puke in the gutter.

There was faint whispering behind him, mostly the groans and complaints of Derby. He remembered having an arm thrown over one of Bif's shoulders and one of Derby's, and being dragged into a bathroom where he vomited again, being laid on his side in a spacious tub, and fading in and out of sleep for the rest of the night, always waking up to hushed conversation. Somewhere within this restless sleep it dawned on Tad that tonight was the first time he and Derby had ever spoken directly to each other.

Tad woke up feeling like absolute garbage, sore from the hangover and from sleeping in the tub. Was this what poor people felt like sleeping on their spring mattresses? Slowly he climbed out of the tub, turning his head only to see Derby sitting on a chair next to the sink, sulking and glaring at him.

"Don't ever drink again. You look like absolute trash. I don't want any of us to be seen with you when you're looking like that."

Without another word Derby swept out of the room. Whether it was the headache, the immediate insult, or the extra pain provided by the door Derby slammed on his way out, the sudden need to give Derby what-for rose in Tad again. But he knew now that he was semi-sober it would have to wait. He'd be where Derby was. It would just have to be a very careful plan. For now, Tad rolled over in the tub and went back to sleep, much more peacefully than before until Pinky came in and turned the water on as revenge for not finding her purse.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: So, this is a late update after a long hiatus because I had just started college, but here it is. Thank you all for the feedback, I really appreciate it!_**  
**

**December Twenty Third, 2012 6:38 PM**

"Damn it, Lola."

Gord Vendome stood at the frameless mirror, which was doodled on the edges with lipstick and nail polish. Gingerly, he took a tissue from Lola's roommate's bureau, rubbing pink lipstick off of a vastly darkening hickey on his neck, turning his head to avoid looking at his black eye.

"What do you want? These magazines you brought are crap, by the way. They're all pictures."

Lola didn't even look up from her copy of Vogue, sulkily flicking through the pages. She was wearing one of Gord's shirts, with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and a pair of denim cutoffs. Gord glared at her reflection in the mirror.

"You give me the ugliest don't need to suck on my neck so hard-what are you looking so hard for in there? More money?"

"You're getting some New Coventry hospitality from a pretty girl. If I have to hear you whine one more time about this, I swear to God-"

Turning towards her, Gord gave her a nasty look and pointed to his swollen eye.

"See this? I have to deal with your stupid boyfriend and his rockabilly band of brothers lumbering after me every time he catches me with one of these stupid hickeys on my neck. I don't really need this from you, right now."

"Oh, what a big strong man you are. Oh fight for me Gord, really, I mean it." Lola said flatly, still not looking at him.

Gord ripped the magazine from her hands and tossed it on the foot of the bed.

"Look, I'm leaving. Go get changed and give me my shirt back. I have to leave now- I talked to Derby and he's having Chad and Bryce walk with me back to my house, not without making a complete ass of me in front of everyone, I might add."

"You're a psycho, you know that?!" Lola said as she ripped the shirt off and threw it at his feet. Pulling an oil stained tee shirt of her head, she gave him a nasty and calculating once-over. "You must have some sort of inbred crazy gene that's screwing all you stupid rich boys up."

Buttoning his shirt and pulling on his sweater, Gord ignored her and muttered to himself.

"Great... it's going to be real great trying to talk to Jimmy smelling like stale whore perfume and having a huge hickey on my neck."

Though Lola was making a point of ignoring him, she eyed Gord suspiciously when she heard Jimmy's name.

"Why would Jimmy care about you having a hickey?"

Gord kept his back turned to her, but stopped his muttering immediately and kept getting dressed quietly, adjusting his scarf. He opened up the window and delicately started to slide himself out before he turned his head to her, not looking her in the eye.

"Johnny. That ghetto rat will have it in for me even worse if he knows I screwed around with you again."

Without another word, Gord slipped out of view, leaving Lola alone. She wasn't a stupid girl, unlike everyone thought. Gord was just damn lucky that she had her own weird reasons for not wanting to hurt him.

**May Fifteenth, 2011 12:00 AM**

The tasks had been handed out for each pledge. Each pledge was at the beck and call of every senior in Harrington House. Every pledge of course, meant all pledges but Derby. Gord Vendome was not comfortable with his position in any way. Last week was the first time he had ever ironed, and the fact that he was ironing Mason Kir's Calvin Klein boxer briefs did not particularly sweeten the deal for him. Considering that he hadn't even done anything fun in this silly club yet, Gord wondered now and again if it were worth it.

However, if he'd learned anything from all those Midnight Masses his grandmother made him attend when he spent Christmas with her in Burgundy, it was that the purpose of life was to suffer constantly for an eventual reward. No matter what his WASPy surroundings could condition him to believe and no matter how much booze and debauchery he engaged in, that darned Catholic guilt must have been genetic. Even if he only spent one night a year in those ornate churches, Gord could never escape the fact that everyone worships something. This all told, the implications of his actions and beliefs were lost on Gord's simple mind even as he stood in the shadow of his true cathedral. He had been waiting for his Big Brother in the back of Harrington House for what felt like forever. If Gord weren't so lacking in self reflection, he'd recognize the odd repentance he was paying for all the old flames he stood up. This was supposed to be the night of his first test.

The distant sound of a church bell chiming that it was midnight signaled to Gord that it was time for him to leave. No doubt this was some cruel joke his Big Brother had dreamed up to test the limits of his own power. Just as Gord had turned to skulk back to his house in the dark, something pulled him back by the collar of his shirt.

"And where do you think you're heading, Pledge?"

"Scared already?"

"Hey Mason, you didn't tell me how much of a pansy your Little Brother was."

Gord squinted in the dark at the dim figures, only lit by the glowing ends of their cigarettes. Of course, the taunting and the familiar scent of various Polo colognes were enough for him to recognize the seniors of Harrington House. The hand that gripped his shirt was revealed to be Mason as he was pulled even more forward and heard an angry hissing whisper in his ear.

"Thanks a lot for making me look bad, Gord."

By now he knew better than to try to defend himself. Justin had made that mistake on their first night and got cuffed in the ear. Instead he just allowed himself to be dragged blindly in the dark until he reached some sort of wall. All at once, a high quality lantern flicked on, causing even the older boys to cringe from its sudden light. Mason shoved him forward from behind into a lattice, leading up to a second story window.

"Pledges climb first."

Just enough to ebb the jeers from his older brothers, Gord curled his fingers around the lattice. Heights were never his strong suit, and looking straight up the vertical incline was already making him sick.

"Hurry up, we haven't got all night, Pledge!"

And with the same religious devotion which he carried out all social duties, Gord inhaled deeply and pulled himself up on the lattice, trying to focus on his movement instead of his placement on the side of the building. He only stopped once, when the lattice jostled as the senior boys hopped on behind him, but more nasty goads from behind pushed him forward. When Gord finally reached the window and he pulled himself in, feet touching the creaking gloom, he only realized then that he had yet to exhale.

Gord stood still panting, following the example of the older brothers by keeping quiet. When the last brother was pulled in through the window, they all gathered around Gord. Finally, the leader apparent began to speak.

"This is the attic of the Bullworth Girl's Dorm. Years ago, a girl hung herself in this attic. She still haunts this attic, and it's the custom that a pledge spends the night alone in here, just as his older brother did."

A pit formed in Gord's stomach. It didn't bother him being the girl's dorm, but sleeping alone in a dank and creepy place wasn't his style by any means. Why couldn't he just steal illicit items or something easy like that? But now the older brothers were leaving him, Mason last of all, shoving a plaid blanket into Gord's hands.

"Good luck."

With that Mason disappeared through the window, leaving Gord alone. The voices of the older brothers joking and laughing became more and more distant, until Gord finally sunk to the floor.

Bad idea, the floor was disgusting. Standing up fussily, Gord laid out the blanket on the floor, before readjusting himself. The wind blew through open windows, making Gord shudder. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, starting at every floor creek, until he slowly started to drift off. Just as he was about to fall asleep, a female silhouette appeared on the wall. His eyes clenching shut, he was ready to scream as the shadow advanced on him, trying desperately to remember the Apostle's Creed, but was muffled by a rough, slender hand. Still shaking, he took in the scent of musky, womanly perfume and cigarette smoke from the hand on his face, juxtaposed with a girly bubblegum scent being breathed into his ear.

"It's only me, pretty boy. You can open your eyes- I know from experience you won't be too broken up over what you see."

The hand moved from his face, running an index finger gently over his cheek on the way down. Opening his eyes, he began to make out a face, squinting make out her features. Out of nowhere the mysterious girl lit a match, revealing the face of a young girl with the eyes of an older woman. Gord had thought he'd seen her by the auto shop here and there. He watched her touch the tip of a cigarette to the match, and savoring a drag. Leaving the cigarette dangling from her lips, she held out the pack to Gord.

"This might calm you down. Always calms me down."

Gord didn't smoke, but for whatever reason, had a hard time saying no to this girl. Nodding, he took a cigarette and held it out for her light, which she did. Gord did his best to look natural as he took his first drag, and did exactly what he didn't want to, coughing and sputtering. Listening to the girl laugh at him didn't make it any better, though her hand running up and down his back did a bit. Feeling a little light-headed, he did his best to sit up and take another drag, coughing a little less this time.

"Why are you being so quiet?" She said, still chuckling at him.

"What are you doing up here? Who are you?"

It wasn't very smooth of him, but the cigarette wasn't calming him down as much as she said that it would. Maybe if this girl would just stop laughing at him-her laugh was a strange one, and it seemed to hold in it the indignant joy of every female that had ever walked the earth.

"A boy sleeping in the girl's dorm asking me what I'm doing here. The nerve of boys these days. Anyhow, I'm doing what any of these girls would do if they weren't a bunch of wusses. Sneaking out to see if there are any boys around- but lucky me, looks like I don't have to climb down that lattice-let me introduce myself. I'm Lola."

There was something velvety and also somewhat husky in her voice, that seemed to worship every word, and before Gord knew it, he was so transfixed on what she was saying that he neglected to ash his cigarette, the glowing orange ember dropping onto his thigh, making him jump. He really liked these pants too-not like they weren't already ruined from the time he'd sat on the bare floor of the attic. Still, it wasn't right for him to get worked up over some trashy looking girl, and he remembered his pride, even if he still couldn't recall the Apostle's Creed.

"Well? Aren't you going to tell me your name?"

"My name is Gordon Vendome."

"Oh, first and last name, you are rich."

"I never said that I wasn't rich. I don't need to explain myself to girls like you, you know. You can call me Gord though. I suppose."

Standing up and snuffing her cigarette out under the heel of her motorcycle boot, Lola walked to the window, seeming cooly miffed.

"Yes, well, I don't think I really need to remember that name, if that's how you plan on treating me."

Propping a foot onto the window sill, Lola smoothly hauled one leg out, as if she'd done this a million times.

"Wait- you don't have to go. Sorry. Please come back."

Gord hated to apologize, but he'd hate even more to be left alone. With a wry and knowing grin, Lola slid herself back in from the window, gracefully setting herself down onto the blanket and placing her hand on his knee.

"Well, since you asked so nicely. Now, why don't you tell yourself about me, rich boy?"

**April Tenth, 2012, 9:47 AM**

That conversation couldn't have possibly gone worse. Gord felt numb all over, and he couldn't breathe, partially from being chased from prefects for skipping class, and partially from grief. It wouldn't have hurt so bad if Jimmy hadn't looked so taken aback, so inconvenienced when Gord said what he did. Every compliment he'd ever received, all the times his mother told him how special he was when he younger, every yearning glance he'd noticed people give him when he walked by seemed to be wiped off his memory at the sight of Jimmy giving him that look.

It had started out as one of their regular things- Gord had been walking to class when he felt his shoulder shoved, only to turn and see Jimmy Hopkins tearing off towards Harrington House. Feeling a warm rush of joy, Gord followed, pretending to be after him. By now, the two of them had this routine down to a science. When they'd gotten to a secluded spot behind Harrington House, Jimmy was holding flowers-he always had flowers. It was such a cheap, common gift, but Gord didn't mind. He took the flowers and they exchanged their short banter before Jimmy pressed him against the brick wall and kissed him, the rough texture of the brick snagging the delicate knit of his Aquaberry sweater.

It was always this way. Kissing Hopkins was strange-he was rougher and less relenting than anyone he'd ever kissed, but his taste was cleaner, less defiled by the adult taste of cigarette and liquor that Gord was used to. As if on cue with this thought, Jimmy pulled away gently and said in an endearing tone:

"You taste like a fucking ash tray."

Gord wasn't sure what possessed him to say what he said next, but it came out nonetheless.

"Do you like me, Jimmy?"

He'd never even addressed him as Jimmy before. With that, Jimmy pulled away all together, with that devastating look on his face. Guarded and guilty, brows furrowed, and eyes turned towards the ground- and Gord felt it before he saw it.

"Ah... what do you mean? I mean, you're cool and all, but I didn't think that you-"

"I do."

Gord wished he hadn't sounded so desperate Rubbing the back of his neck, Jimmy's eyes stayed fixed on the ground, at loss for words. Sighing, Jimmy backed up a few steps.

"I don't think I do. Not in the way you mean. I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what you want to hear."

"What-"

Before Gord could finish his thought, they were interrupted.

"HEY! Stop right there!"

Grabbing Gord by the shoulders, Jimmy pushed him in the other direction.

"Look, just get out of here, I'll take care of the prefects."

Stunned, Gord watched Jimmy run off before he heard the shouts of the other prefects and he rediscovered the use of his legs. Taking off, he felt Seth Kolbe hot on his heels before he jumped a fence and ran towards the beach.

This was how he got where he was now, sitting against the sea wall with his head in his hands, trying to compose himself. Taking deep but ragged breaths, he put a cigarette in his mouth, searching his pockets for a lighter. He needed something to calm himself down, ease at least some of the stress he was going through. Finding nothing, he cursed and rested his head on his knees, raising his head only when he felt someone standing beside him. Gord looked up and saw none other than Lola Lombardi holding out her lighter, her face serene as one of the icons she kept on her bureau. Giving her a skeptical look, he took the lighter and lit his cigarette as she sat down next to him.

Handing it back to her, she rubbed his shoulder, and he only recoiled for a moment before he let her continue, his breaths slowly becoming shorter.

"If it makes you feel any better, Gord, he hates me."

Gord couldn't help but laugh at that even as he sniffled a bit.

"It doesn't."

"I didn't think it would."

Lola stayed next to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and lighting her own cigarette. Sighing, Gord laid his head on her chest. Neither of them was Jimmy, but they'd both have to do the next best thing for now.

**April Tenth, 2012, 10:01 AM**

Derby stood still at the window as he heard the door creak open and slam behind him. He hadn't originally had Bif meet him at Harrington House to talk, but after what he just saw, now they had to. Feeling arms wrap around him, Derby turned his head back towards Bif.

"I didn't say that you could touch me."

Bif murmured an apology in Derby's ear, but didn't let go. He'd committed a dangerous faux pas by being so forward, but the fact that he hadn't been harmed yet meant that he was probably safe, for now, and backing down and being weak could make Derby hate him for good.

"Gord is having another playful romp in the Salvation Army donation bin."

"What? Lola again? I'll set him straight. I don't want to have to deal with Johnny Vincent setting stupid little traps and having to ask Hopkins for help-"

"We won't be asking Hopkins for help." Derby pulled himself away from Bif. "If anything you'll have to set Hopkins straight. But after what I just saw, I don't think we have to worry about that."

It took Bif a minute to understand, but he finally did and was visibly surprised.

"I mean... I'm not surprised that Gord is... you know. But I didn't think Hopkins would be-"

"It doesn't matter."

Derby sat down on a burgundy leather sofa by the window, and Bif sat down as lightly as he could next to him.

"Are you going to do something about Gord, Derby?"

"Gord's an idiot. I think he's sort of a brave idiot though. It'd be easy for him to find some other rich guy like us that he could keep it on the sly with, who knew to keep his mouth shut. But he always chases after the most inconvenient people because they're the one who he wants."

They sat quietly together as Derby laid his head in Bif's lap. Head swimming, Bif finally spoke up.

"Would you be with me right now if it was inconvenient?"

Derby didn't want Bif to ask him that question. He didn't even know. He knew what he was supposed to say, and said it.

"No. God no."

There was another uncomfortable beat between them before Bif gently lifted Derby's head and walked away from him.

"Excuse me?" Derby said sharply. "Where are you going?"

Bif didn't answer as he walked out the door.

"Bif! Get back here!" Derby ran to the door and shouted after him. "I'm a bloody Harrington!"

Sinking to the ground, Derby couldn't help but think to himself for once how pathetic that sounded.


End file.
